A response to a prompt found in my Tumblr inbox.
From Anonymous: You should write some Arya/Tywin or Arya/Sandor
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~Advantages~ (Arya Stark, Tywin Lannister)
She's young, and that's just fine.
It was the one thing that had kept her lies from damning her outright.
He knew she was more than some low-tread northern whelp the moment she opened her mouth; her folly was his entertainment. Though once washed of muck and filth, her markings were his gain.
She was more a Stark than the boy who had been crowned a king, so much did she look like Rhaegar's whore.
Tywin had no interest in who or what started that war, only the leverage he could amount for himself. However, in the midst of a new war, staring down into grey eyes that glittered so defiantly, he felt something savage bloom inside him.
There was a debt owed to him that ran at a higher value than any gold or jewels; a blood debt, of house and name. And the one who could pay with such specific currency sat an arm's length away.
The lion's face became stony, dangerous; the little wolf didn't so much as flinch. Her own childlike bravado switched to something icy - youth seemingly outmaneuvered by a simmering rage.
If she was to be useful to him, that kind of blatant unmooring would have to be anchored. But there would be plenty of time for those changes, for her to bend to his whim and want.
For she is young.
…and that's just fine.
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~Differences~ (Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane)
This one's nothing like her sister, he thinks.
The younger: shorter, brazen, dark - in both colouring and demeanour. She is crude, this wolf-bitch, and presents herself so boldly that the shock of it is enough to steer most away. Though, to the few who know her, who've slipped around her gate by no more method than having been saddled with her company, they recognize her brashness as the lie it is.
Arya Stark could change on a whim - from cloy to coy, from demure to deadly - but her inherent fear and frustration give her tricks away. Like walking toward a shimmer of water on the blazing sand of a desert, pretense falls away for those familiar.
Oh, and he is familiar.
How she moves in the shadows. How she comes alive at night. How her eyes glitter at the mention of debts and revenge and the anticipation of the flow of blood that follows. How her body shivers with pleasure in the aftermath of such deeds.
No, nothing like her sister.
Thank the gods.
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